One more time, Allyson. You know you'll feel better. Come on, it's almost out.
The toilet seat was no longer pristine; its whiteness splattered with flecks of vomit that hadn't made it to their destination. My fingers grasped onto the cold plastic seat because it was my only support during those overwhelming moments of self-pity. The gut-wrenching smell of acid and decomposed food should've been enough to bring the last of that home-cooked breakfast from my stomach, but I was distracted by my pale blue, chipped fingernail polish.
I sat back and picked at the peeling polish with a heavy sigh. Somehow, my mother hadn't noticed it this morning, and that was nothing short of a blessing because I couldn't handle any more of her micromanaging.
I glanced at my blue dress laying in a pile, shoved into the corner of the small bathroom where it would remain until I could hide it away in the bottom of a cardboard box. I refused to wear it after my mother called me a fat cow during breakfast with the Jones family. She insisted her words were because of the few extra pounds I'd gained over the summer, but the truth was I'd never be able to look good enough in it for herâno matter how hard I tried.
Desperate to escape the guilt before someone came looking for me, I slid my fingers back down my throat and gagged at the burn, but it did the trick. Tears brimmed at the edge of my lashes and threatened to spill over from the sickness.
"A-Allyson, are you in there?"
"Yeah, Caleb." As calmly as possible, I slid over to the sink, splashing my face with water and trying to ease the shakiness in my hands. "Did you need something?"
There was no response.
When I opened the door, he stood scrunching his face and fumbling with the small buttons on a new green plaid shirt. The trademark family freckles seemed darker on his flushed skin and our matching dark curls hung down over his eyes which flustered him further. He stomped his boot against the wooden floor.
"I h-ha.. dislike this shirt!" His stammer only fueled the fire seeming to burn within him. Unfortunately, he didn't have the ability to put it out on his own.
I reached for him because it was my job as his sister to help him, to be there for him, but I knew better than to touch Caleb unless he initiated it.
Caleb yanked at the front of the shirt and sent a few buttons rattling to the floor. "I h-hate this shirt, Allyson! Why does she m-make me wear this? This isn't my b-blu... favorite one!" He stomped further down the hall and proceeded to shout at the top of his lungs.
His tantrum evolved when he slammed his fists against the wall and shook the neatly framed pictures. I watched one of the family photos rock back-and-forth like it was trying to decide if it wanted to make my day worse by crashing to the floor.
Even after thirteen years of raising Caleb, our mother still didn't understand why Caleb couldn't control himself, or maybe she did understand, but chose not to care. She was always looking for reasons to punish him and breaking an expensive frame would be like a gold mine to her.
"Caleb, hey!" I rushed after him and squeezed past his arm in the narrow hallway to block him, holding my hands between us. "I know you're mad, but I need you to calm down. We've got to get ready for church."
Caleb's gray-blue eyes were clouded over in frustration as he stared me. "I don't w-want to go if I have to wear this shirt." The slow, rhythmic tapping of his index finger and thumb started.
The tantrum took all the breath from his lungs, leaving his shoulders hunched, but it didn't stop him from sticking his trembling bottom lip out to give me his best 'puppy dog' face.
I folded my arms across my chest and dropped my eyes to the hardwood floor. He knew it was unfair to give me that look because it meant I had to make the decision of whether my day was going to be easy or an uphill battle. My love for Caleb always made the choice a simple one.
"Okay, well how about we let you pick out a shirt for the service today?"
Caleb's palm was moist against my skin as he patted my forearm in his best effort to show affection. "You're the b-best." His full lips pulled into my favorite crooked smile before he returned to his room.
"Don't take too long, you hear? Momma is going to be ready to leave soon," I called over my shoulder.
Silence settled over the house except for a family photograph swaying against the wall. My fingers caught the heavy frame and aligned it with the rest of the photos littering the old hallway. It only made sense that the picture torturing me this morning would be my favorite one in the entire house. I was so happy to be a big sister the day Caleb was born. It was scary how much I could love one tiny human being. In that moment, we were actually a happy family.
My mother's strained voice carried up the stairs, serving as a strict reminder that I didn't have much time before we left for church. I told myself I wouldn't rush for her, but that didn't stop me from hurrying down the hallway.
My bedroom sat tucked away in the back of our farmhouse, renovated by my mother specifically for when I was born. She painted the walls in defiance of my grandmother, covering the outdated floral wallpaper with a soft purple. Soâ even though I hated the color purpleâI never had the heart or guts to ask my mother if I could repaint.
Stacks of boxes stuffed with my belongings littered the dark wooden floor, only leaving a small path to walk. My closetâstripped of the insidesâlooked bare and unfamiliar. I'd grown accustomed to seeing it filled to the brim with new clothing. God forbid, anyone in town think we rewear our outfits. I mean, honestly, my family had enough clothes to give everyone in the state of Alabama an outfit, with some left over.
I stopped to pick up the white lace dress I'd tossed across one of the boxes in favor of my blue dress for breakfast. The lace was rougher than normal cotton against my skin, but my mother always adored the dress.
She thought that my dark curls were beautiful against the white lace and made it a point to remind me that she didn't have the chance to wear expensive things when she was young. I figured since she would be angry with Caleb for wearing his favorite blue shirt, I could at least try to appease her by wearing the dress. I mean, who cared if I was uncomfortable and itchy the entire service? I looked good in everyone's eyes, and that's all that mattered.
Heavy footsteps were followed by creaking steps, sending an echo through the thin walls. I knew the knock was coming but it still made me jump.
"Allyson, honey, your mother is ready to go." My father's voice was coarse, like fragmented rock grinding beneath truck tires.
"I'm coming." I smoothed the white dress against my hips before opening the door.
His face was leathery and wrinkled from years beneath the southern sun, but his black raven hair mingled with the graying strands on his head in a way that hid any suggestions of his age. He appraised me warmly.
"You look beautiful as always, Princess."
I rolled my eyes with a small smile. "Thanks, Dad."
"I can't believe you're all grown-up and heading off to college. It feels like just yesterday you were ruining dress after dress in the mud outside the church." His eyes glinted with humor.
"Momma would get so mad."
My father grinned. "You've always been more of a Daddy's girl anyway."
I nodded. "Mmhm."
"Who am I going to take deer hunting this fall? You know we caught pictures of that big one over by the river last season." He shoved his rough, calloused hands into the pockets of his nicest jeans. "I've got a feeling this is going to be the year we get the big one."
I shook my head. "You can tempt me all you want."
"I'll just miss having my hunting buddy around, that's all." He smiled.
"I'll be back for holidays, but you knowâ" I raised an eyebrow at him, "âyou could try and take Caleb."
"I try to include your brother in things, but your mother doesn't think he'd be able to handle it. She wants to limit his tantrums so everyone doesn't go asking questions. I can't keep an eye on him all the tiâ" he started, but I cut him short.
"Just try harder." I turned away from him because I didn't have the patience to put up with his excuses. My parents always tried to paint Caleb as a problem instead of a person.
Caleb marched confidently from his room dressed in a blue polo shirt and khaki pants, ignorant of the wire wrapped around his foot and sliding across the floor behind him. His bright smile faded when he looked down at his shoes and realized he'd been caught.
"One of your robots trying to go to church?" My father asked jokingly.
Caleb unwrapped the wire from his foot and carried it quickly back to his room. On his way back, he looked up at our father. "N-No, Dad. A robot wouldn't be able to understand the purpose of c-chu... worship. Jesus is something the human race c-creat... made up." He ducked his head to hide a small smirk, and couldn't contain the small skip in his step as he hurried down the creaky wooden stairs.
My dad raised an eyebrow as he watched Caleb disappear down the stairs. "Did he just say Jesus is something we made up?"
"You know how Caleb's mind works. He was being literal."
My father sighed and shook his head. "Your mom will have a fit when she sees he isn't in that green shirt."
"This is my last Sunday at church. I want Caleb to be happy." I shrugged and glanced at my father before following Caleb out the front door.
The summer heat licked at our faces and coiled around my limbs like a hot-blooded snake. Almost immediately sweat beaded at the base of my neck, forcing me to lift my thick curtain of hair in the hopes I would catch a soft breeze. I watched Caleb rush to the truck in an effort to escape the rays.
As soon as I closed the truck door, my mother turned in her seat to face me. "Please be on your best behavior. The whole town is going to be at church today."
"There's only like forty people living in the town, Momma. Everyone always shows up to church on Sundays." I rolled my eyes.
"Actually, there's six-hundred and six people who live in our t-tow... here," Caleb added, tapping his fingers together with a smile.
I glared over at my brother, who had a terrible habit of spouting out random facts. "It was an exaggeration, Caleb."
Caleb turned to me with his eyebrows pushed together. "I j-just wanted your argument to be correct."
"Will you two hush up? Allyson, there is no need to be so sarcastic. You've had a bad attitude with me here lately." Her green eyes focused on Caleb's outfit and she scoffed, waving her freshly manicured nails around in the air. "Caleb, I told you to wear the green one."
Caleb turned away from my mother, choosing to focus on the fields of cotton outside the truck. Silence had become his way of coping with our perfection-seeking mother.
"Momma, it's just a shirt. Let it go."
She pursed her lips, but said nothing. It was hard to miss the displeasure swimming in her eyes as my father started the truck. My eyes shifted to Caleb whose previously happy mood vanished, leaving nothing but a shell in its place.
My heart sank into my stomach at the thought of leaving him to fend for himself while I was away at college. I'd based my college decision on staying as close to home as possible so I could come visit my parents and Caleb during holidays.
Caleb would need that solace.
Once we reached the paved highway, it wasn't long before the red-brick buildings of my hometown appeared in the distance. It was like one little blip surrounded by acres and acres of farmland. Large signs with peeling letters hung proudly above the doors of the southern shops in the town square.
Our town had one Piggly Wiggly, one high school, and one good gas station. We also had people who turned their heads to look any time a vehicle passed, like they were waiting for some new drama to come around. Good ole Creighton, Alabama never changed.
Church was the place to be on Sundays. The parking lot was always filled with shimmering cars and dusty trucks as people from town gathered to discuss the local news or talk about their neighbors. We were pulling into our usual spot when my father slammed on the breaks. My hand instinctively grabbed the seat in front of me to stop my face from smacking into the new leather.
"Dad, what's going on?"
"Nothing, kids." He put the car in park where we were. "Mary, go ahead and take them inside." The sound of his door opening filled the cab of the truck.
My mother turned to us. "You heard him. We don't want to be late." She exited the truck, but stopped Caleb to make sure his outfit was still presentable.
I tore my eyes away from my mother to follow my father. His fingers curled into tight fists by his side at the same time his shoulders became rigid. He glanced around to make sure he was alone in the parking lot. Everyone else had headed inside for the start of service, but I stayed to search for what had made my father madder than a wet hen.
Beneath the shade of the small tree at the edge of the parking lot, a pregnant African-American mother sat with her two young children. They were gathered behind a folding card table that they'd set up to sell cookie dough as part of a school fundraiser. Next to their stand, an older African American lady struggled to exit a red Chrysler with her cane.
"Hey, who do you think you are?" My father's gravely voice was venomous and demanding, like he had some title before his name. "You can't set up here."
The lady sitting at the table pulled her children closer and raised her head in his direction. "Why not?" She challenged.
My father slammed his hand onto the small table, causing the buckets of cookie dough to rattle and fall to the pavement. "This is a place people come to worship, not be harassed by people like you." He pointed his finger at her like he was scolding either Caleb or I. "Don't make me get the police involved."
"Sir, there is no need to act like this. A church ain't private property. Everyone should be welcome at the home of our Lord and Savior," the older lady's shaky voice interrupted as she hobbled to the table.
"Your kind have your own church for worship, and it would be best for all of us if you went back to it." This time he kept his hands to his sides, but the venom in his voice was scarier than his fists.
Even though the world was changing, racism in my family was nothing new. The ugly hatred festered in the heart of each generation, but I never understood why. Empathy wasn't something my parents had taught meâ it was just something I'd always felt.
I guess it started the summer I met Kevonte and Mr. Turner. I'll never forget my mother knocking their lemonade from my hand like it was poison or the look on Kevonte's face when Mr. Turner had to console him. That was the day I realized my parent's 'treat everyone the way you want to be treated' philosophy only applied to a certain group of people.
The little boy started to cry and grasped onto his mother while the little girl stared at my father with her feet locked in place. My father turned his back on them like they were nothing but trash on the side of the road. He didn't care about the crying child or the well-being of the pregnant woman in hundred-degree weather. He passed by without noticing me, and racial slurs flew from his mouth in grumbled breaths.
"Allyson, service is starting." My mother's voice pulled me away from my thoughts. She stood on the steps of the church with her arms folded.
My mother's words faded to the background as I glanced over at the cookie dough stand at the edge of the parking lot. The two children, barely taller than the the fold-out table, played tag around the base of the old oak tree, stopping by their mother every few seconds to catch their breath in the sweltering heat. It tore me apart to know that the last thing those little kids heard were my father's hateful words.
I fixated my eyes on a water bottle rolling across the pavement a few feet away. Maybe those didn't have to be the last words they heard.
My father always kept an ice chest full of bottled water in his truck to keep himself hydrated during his long days in the fields. My eyes flickered to the back of the truck where the ends of the old strap that kept the chest closed flapped in the wind. He wouldn't notice a few missing water bottles.
When I turned to walk to the truck, warm fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulled me to a stop. A sharp sting radiated across my cheek when a hand connected with my face.
"Where do you think you're going?" My mother's voice snapped. "I told you that service was starting."
I recoiled away from her and placed my hand against my cheek. "Did you seriously just hit me?"
Her eyes flickered over to the cookie dough stand. She lowered her voice. "If you'd learn to listen, none of this would be necessary."
I glared at her. "I was comiâ" I started, but she interrupted me.
"Hush. I suggest you get your act together, Allyson. I won't let you make the family look bad." She sighed. "Your brother already does that."
I curled my hands into tight fists. It should be easy to stand-up to her. Tell her I didn't care what anyone thought. End this fake façade of perfection we were forced to hide behind. I was leaving tomorrow anyway, but I knew better than to challenge her. She'd find an excuse to punish Caleb for the inability to meet her standards, and I couldn't stand the thought of that. I'd rather it be me than Caleb.
She was watching me carefully, probably trying to decide if she needed to say something else, or maybe hit me for the second time. Without another word, I ducked my head and pushed past her, shoving my shoulder into her arm as I hurried up the steps to the sanctuary.
The rest of church was uneventful and uncomfortable as hot, sweaty people packed into the pews in their Sunday best. When the limited amount of space caused Caleb to start frantically tapping his fingers together, we moved to the less crowded edge of the pew. I didn't want my family to be embarrassed by their son's odd habit.
My mother's distinct voice earned an eye roll from me when I heard her bragging about her grand breakfast with the Jones family this morning. My father sat beside her with a welcoming smile and chuckled to add effect to certain parts of her stories. The two different sides of my father had never been more apparent.
After the service, I stood with my mother and Caleb at the back of the church while we waited for Dad to finish telling one of his fishing stories to the preacher.
"Oh, Mary. I bet you are so proud of your little girl going to college." I heard Mrs. Tassie's voice before I could see her distinctive permed hairstyle and cherub cheeks.
My mother smiled as she reached out to touch Mrs. Tassie's hand. "Oh, you know we are. She's going to do great things."
"Now all she needs is to find a good husband." Mrs. Tassie raised her bushy eyebrows like she was questioning if that was even possible. "I'm surprised she hasn't found one around here yet."
I didn't want any of the country hicks around here who had already slept with every girl in town.
"None of the g-guys around here are g-good enough for my sister. She has standards, if y-you will." Caleb tapped his fingers to his temple as he avoided eye contact with Mrs. Tassie.
My mother glared at Caleb with a heavy sigh. "Excuse him, Mrs. Tassie. Caleb has trouble with his mouth sometimes." She leaned close to my brother. "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."
Caleb glared at my mother. "At least I'm h-hon... I don't lie."
I knew what the look in my mother's eyes meant. It was my turn to piece everything back together, to make the family look good.
"Now, you know I'll find a good husband when the time is right. No need to rush things like Mrs. Darlene's daughter." I raised an eyebrow.
Mrs. Tassie nodded. "Oh, you're right. Darlene was devastated when she found out her daughter was pregnant before marriage. The guy didn't even want to stick around to help her raise it."
"What did they decide to do about that whole situation anyway?" My mother asked.
Mrs. Tassie and my mother were deep in their gossip, but I could only focus on Caleb. His shoulders were slouched forward and eyes transfixed on the ground like he was ashamed, defeated by my mother's words. The most nauseating part was the fact he'd done nothing wrong.
I noticed the subtle tapping of his index finger to thumb before he exited the church without another word.
I followed him, refusing to let him be alone longer than he had to be. "Are you okay?"
We weaved through the people who lingered to talk in the parking lot.
"Momma, n-never lets me speak my mind. She n-never lets me do anything. She's always worried a-abo... cares about what people will say." He stopped in front of the truck, but his eyes continued to study the people around us. "I can't help it that I'm different."
I wanted nothing more than to show my brother that it was okay to be different, to be yourself, but I couldn't because I wasn't even allowed to do that.
"I know." I slowly extended my hand toward him. "Thank you for standing up for me."
Caleb reached his hand out to take mine, despite the fact it made him uncomfortable, and relaxed at my touch. "I l-love you, Allyson."
"I love you too, Caleb." I smiled down at him. "Remember we'll always be in this together."
Caleb exhaled a quiet breath. "A-Always."
My eyes flickered between the groups of familiar faces surrounding us in the church parking lot. These people I'd known all my life were stuck in more ways than one. Stuck in this town, stuck in their ways, and stuck in their lives.
There was nothing left for me in this town where I had grown up. As much as I didn't want to leave my brother behind, a small part of me rejoiced at the thought of leaving for college tomorrow.
I rejoiced because I knew God had a different plan for me.